Oh really?

Oh really?

Strauss Home / Humor Channel / Bullz-Eye Home

It was a simple, harmless question.

It was something you throw on the table when you're so hopelessly in love…so confident in your relationship…so committed…that nothing would ever get in the way. 

It was the kind of question you can only ask someone you know better than you know yourself.

It was a thoughtless thought, thrown out knowing that you won't be judged for the question, and you would never judge the other person's answer.

It was a simple, harmless question.

Until my wife opened her freaking pie hole and answered me.

You see, there we were at Bob Evans, alone last Sunday morning. 

My mother-in-law had the kids sleep over on Saturday night, which was nice of her. And we didn't have to pick them up until 3 PM on Sunday, which was "Oh My God, I love you" of her.

As we sat, I put down my sports page. 

I stopped listening to the people sitting behind us talking about how Jesus Christ had changed their lives. 

And I looked at my wife and thought about how much I loved her.

It was an overwhelming feeling that you can barely even describe. But it's something so deep within your soul.

As I gazed at her reading the paper, a woman walked by our table wearing leather pants.

My wife smiled and said, "Would you look at her at 10 AM on a Sunday morning?"

So of course, I looked. 

Because I'm not one of those guys who can only look at women in leather pants after 11 AM. I always like looking at women in leather pants.

Seeing that I love my wife so much -- and she was kind enough to point out the hot woman in the leather pants -- I felt the least I could do was try and reciprocate her kindness.

And so, I clutched her hand and smiled.

"So when you look at a guy," I asked, "what's the first thing you look at?"


1. "Oh honey…please. I don't really look at guys."

2. "Suuuuure. Like I spend my day looking at other men." 

3. "Like I've got the time to look at other men with two kids."

4. "Look at men? Why would I look at men? I'm annoyed by men."

The thing is, I could give you a hundred and six more answers I thought she was going to give me.

But no, not my wife. 

"So when you look at a guy," I asked, "what's the first thing you look at?"

"Well," she said, "the most important thing is a guy's face. He's gotta have a good face. If he doesn't have a good face, the rest doesn't even matter."

Like my face, right honey?

"Like that guy two tables behind me," she said, without ever taking her eyes off me. Without ever turning her head. "That guy's got a good face."

So, um, sweetheart, I don't exactly remember you turning around and checking the guy out two tables behind you. Did you scan the place looking for men with really good faces before we sat down?

"Then," she said, "I check out his ass and legs. I've always liked a guy with thin legs and a nice, tight ass."

Here's the deal: there are three things I don't have:

1. A thin left leg.
2. A thin right leg.
3. A nice, tight ass.

I do have a good face, though. For an iguana.

Then she mentioned an old boyfriend that had the kind of face and body she was referring to. 

"You remember Joe," she said. "He has a good face, a nice, tight ass and thin legs."

You can stop any second now, darling. I've got the picture.

Apparently, she didn't think I had the picture. Because she pulled out a pen and drew a stick figure of a guy on her napkin. 

Then she circled the lower half of the stick figure's body and said, "This is the area I was always interested in."

Then she left the napkin sitting on the table. Staring at me.

Hello, Mr. Stick Figure with the nice, tight ass and the pencil-thin legs. Y'know, you have a really good face. A little round, but good. Has anyone ever told you that before?

Then she went back to looking at her coupons.

Like nothing had ever happened.

Like things were the same as they'd always been.

Like she just answered a simple, harmless question.

My ass.

Excuse me. My flabby ass.

Well, gee, y'know, now might be a good time to join the people behind me, because the only thing that was going to help was a love and understanding of Jesus Christ.

Speaking of J.C…Jesus Christ, I had no idea my wife was like this.

I thought my wife was a loving, caring, devoted spouse.

I thought she was the kind of woman who stayed home and took care of the kids and cooked and cleaned like all the good women I've ever known.

Apparently, I thought wrong.

Apparently, my wife spends her day tramping around like some two-bit hooker in a Honda Odyssey, rolling down her electric windows and purring at any guy with a good face, a nice, tight ass and thin legs that walks/drives/runs by.

Or for that matter, any man with a good face, a nice, tight ass and thin legs that's sitting two tables behind her.

I can't believe this.

For chrissakes, there I am, sitting at my desk, sweating bullets, trying to earn a day's pay. Busting my ass for The Man.

In the meantime, she's sitting at home, ignoring the hungry, dirty kids, letting the dishes pile up, eating both sides of a Twix bar, drawing stick figures and looking out the front window for a guy with a good face, a nice, tight ass and thin legs.

I bet that's what she does. Every goddamn day.

In the meantime, there I am, sitting at my desk, busting my ass for The Man.

Oh sure, during lunch, maybe I'll take a little break and surf a little porn.

And maybe first thing in the morning, too.

And early afternoon.

And right after that first cup of coffee.

And for a little while between 10:00 AM and 4:00 PM.

And right at the end of the day, just to unwind.

But mostly, there I am sitting at my desk. Busting my ass for The Man.

Jesus Christ, I don't believe this is happening to me.

I've been married to a woman for 13 years who is totally repulsed by my looks.

I knew I should've married that blind chick.


I bet there's even been one or two or six hundred times when she wasn't even thinking about me while we were having sex.

So THAT's why she closes her eyes!

All this time, I thought we were becoming one. 

I thought we were uniting in a bond of unbridled passion.

I thought we had a physical and emotional connection.


All this time, she's been thinking, "Y'know, as long as I don't open my eyes, I'm so having sex with Mel Gibson."

I'm so appalled and disgusted by her behavior. I don't know what to think.

Because I've certainly never done anything like that. Ever. 

I love my wife.

For chrissakes, while I'm having sex with her, I would never, ever, ever, imagine I was having sex with another woman.

Not once while I was having sex with my wife have I ever imagined she was Pamela Anderson wearing a short black shirt with thigh-high boots and a low-cut tight leopard skin top. And she had a riding crop.

I've never done that. Never ever. 

Jesus Christ.

I can't believe I'm supporting this woman's perverse habits.

This…this obsessed, man-crazed vixen my kids call "Mommy."


Hi kids, how was your day today?


Good daddy. We played with our toys while Mommy accidentally got locked in the bedroom with the guy who fixed the laundry machine.




That machine musta been really broken, Daddy. It musta hurt Mommy too, Daddy. 'Cuz we kept hearing her moaning a lot from behind that locked door.




The man left after the machine was fixed, Daddy. He musta been cold while he was locked in there 'cuz when he was leaving I saw him zip up his pants.




Boy Daddy, that guy had a really good face, a nice, tight ass and thin legs. 




You suck, Daddy. What the hell was Mommy thinking marrying you?

My wife isn't supposed to be like this. Other wives are supposed to be this way. 

The wives I look at and think, "Hmmm, I wonder if she's like that."

"I wonder if that guy's wife over there is thinking about my ass."

Because apparently, my wife is thinking about his.

So now, what do I do?

Do I sit back and let her run roughshod all over me?

Do I let her treat me as nothing more than a blow-up doll with a paycheck?

Do I accept the fact that I'm nothing more than a body at her disposal so she can close her eyes and pretend I'm Russell Crowe?

The Academy Award-winning star of Glad He Ate Her.

Do I take this lying down?

Or do I stand up for myself and refuse to be used as a sex toy for her most intimate fantasies?

The truth is, I could do any of those things.

On the other hand, I could do nothing.

I mean, you should see my body. I'm lucky anybody'll have sex with me.

"You ready to go?" said my wife.

"Sure," I replied. "You pay the bill. I'll go warm up the car."

"That's sweet," she said. "I love you."

"I love you, too," said George Clooney's stunt double.